Escaping His Roles
by CADay
Summary: In the years after the first fall of the Dark Lord, Severus Snape finds himself tutoring a student and trying to escape the roles thrust on him during the First Wizarding War. I do not own the world or characters; I'm simply playing in J.K. Rowling's sandbox.
1. Potions Class

"Poor! Poor! Dreadful! Not one of you manage to turn in a single assignment that is of the quality I would expect of NEWT level students!" Robes billowed as Professor Snape snatched a recently returned essay from the nearest desk and read, "'Wormwood extract is used in potions.' Why thank you for that brilliant observation, Abbot! I am astounded by your intellect! Rewrite this. I want an entirely new essay within a week. One that befits a NEWT level student. FROM ALL OF YOU! Advanced Potions is a class you elected to take. I did not request your presence here, nor do I give up daily hope that you will drop my class. Now! Page 375. Instructions are on the board for an imbecile incapable of reading from the textbook. Begin!"

Severus stalked back to his desk and sank into the chair with an inaudible sigh. How had he ended up with these dunderheads? He had tried so hard to weed out those with no talent last year. How had these idiots slipped through? He was rigid for a reason. There had to be real talent for someone to succeed in the field of potions. No one seemed to understand that.

He shook his head and stood. They should be about halfway through the travesties meant to pass as potions. Time to make his rounds.

* * *

 _Stir counterclockwise until the potion turns scarlet._

Strands of blonde hair blew back as Taylor Peterson heaved a sigh, stirring away. It wasn't working! The potion was still orange. She had to at least get an A on this assignment or she'd end up with an A in the class! And she couldn't do that! She couldn't get below an E in any class if she wanted that apprenticeship in Italy!

"Miss Peterson," the snide voice drawled behind her, "Are you deaf? Or do you simply find yourself incapable of doing as your told?" She jumped as a blush spread across her face. She dropped her ladle. What had she missed?

"I-I'm sorry, Professor. What did I do?"

He arched his brow as he gave her potion an indelicate sniff. "Was this your attempt at the assignment?" She nodded softly. She must have really butchered it.

He looked her over and turned away, "Pity."

Her heart dropped and she slumped a little. She was going to get an A or a P in this class. Then she definitely wouldn't get the apprenticeship. An apprenticeship with one of the last men Nicolas Flamel taught! She had to get it. Had to. But if she couldn't even get an E in a class so important to alchemy, then it was useless.

She magicked away her mess of a potion. There was no use. She was destined to fail this class. It was with a heavy heart that she left the Potions Master's calculating gaze when he dismissed their class. Could she appeal to Professor Dumbledore? Ask him to have Professor Snape help her a little? Because she couldn't possibly approach him herself.

She trudged back to Ravenclaw Tower. There was no way she could do it. There was no use in trying.

The portrait at the door smiled serenely at her. Time for the riddle to get into her House. The portrait began softly,

"This thing all things devours.  
Birds, beasts, trees, and flowers.  
Gnaws iron, bites steel.  
Grinds hard stones into meal.  
Slays kings, ruins towns.  
And beats high mountains down."

At least this riddle was fairly simple. What weathers down rocks and disfigures metal? The elements. Which would also take down a mountain eventually. Though eventually... Elements wouldn't kill a King. Eventually... Time!

Her eyes lit up as she cracked it. "Time!" The portrait swung open and she clambered through with a sense of triumph. Another riddle solved. Now if that would just get her that apprenticeship. She sighed as her shoulders slumped slightly. She was going to worry herself to death over it.


	2. Running to the Headmaster

Professor Snape buried his face in his hands and growled in frustration. He couldn't take it any longer! If he had to read one more bad essay... This was ridiculous. None of his Advanced Potions class had managed to even get to the halfway point of the potion. Though. He had to admit, there had been one person to get almost halfway without making a mockery of the art.

 _Without making a mockery of the art_. He sat up and leaned back in his chair, thinking. Peterson. She had almost had it right. She had just gone a bit slower than he had allotted time for. Out of that entire class, she was the only one. He thought back. Had she always listened intently? Shown promise? Possibly.

He stood and paced for a moment, torn by indecision that was so unlike him. It went against everything he had. But she might have that essential spark. And was it not his job to kindle that spark? If he could, he would make a potioneer out of her. Not just her. No, he would reach out to any student that had that spark.

He focused on red hair and green eyes on a warm afternoon and cast his Patronus. As always, he ignored the pang of sadness that struck his core as he addressed the creature made of light, "Albus, I need a word with you." Terse and businesslike. Just like Albus preferred. He nodded and stowed his wand in his robes. The silver doe bound off through the stone wall, taking with it once again any lightheartedness he felt.

He understood why the Headmaster wanted him this way. He was to be the storybook villain. The scapegoat. The one that was hated. Despised. The Git of the Dungeons. The Old Bat. Snivellous. And he could be all of that. Easily in fact. He could be the disciplinarian. The rigid Potions Master. That was the best way to be. He had been forced into this job by both of his Masters, but he had grown to love it. Albus, in his infinite wisdom, had known that potions was his one true love in school. He had thrown himself into it when everything had been falling apart, and he had never regretted it once. All he regretted was year after year of dunderhead students. Though, there was almost always one piece of coal among the rocks. With enough pressure, he could make Peterson a diamond.

A silver phoenix burst through the ceiling and flared its glowing wings. "Come soon." _Of course_ , he thought with a sigh.

* * *

Taylor tossed her quill at the desk. It was no use to write to her father about any of it. He just wouldn't understand. Wouldn't be of any help. And it wasn't just because he was a Muggle! He had tunnel vision about what her life should be. He wasn't ready for her to permanently leave home. This apprenticeship would mean no more summers and holidays together for a couple years, and he didn't like that. He didn't want her to leave Britain. So, her failing Potions would cause him just a little turmoil. Just as far in as she was getting a low grade in a class where she could do much better.

She heaved a sigh and ran her hands through her hair, shaking it out. A walk would help. She could make a quick trip around the grounds to cool down. Then she could make her way up to ask Professor Dumbledore for his assistance in reaching out to Professor Snape. She could use help with that prickly man.

She nodded and set out. She'd get this sorted! She wasn't throwing in the towel yet!


	3. Dumbledore's Office

"Lemon drops." What a ridiculous password. Albus Dumbledore was supposedly the greatest wizard of their time, and yet, he picked Muggle sweets as his passwords. He sighed and shook his head as he ascended the spiral staircase. There was no need to knock. Albus knew he was coming.

The old man was waiting for him. Half-moon glasses infuriatingly slipped down his nose. Eyes peering piercingly through him. He sighed softly. "Stop it. Now." He loathed nothing more than the man before him. Except maybe the man that he kept being sent back to. Hopefully that was over now. For good. Things had been quiet for several years. They needed to stay that way.

"Severus, you aren't letting me in."

He scowled at the Headmaster. "I dislike you sifting through my head, Albus. Surely you know this by now." He hated for the old man to use Legimens on him. Absolutely despised it. What was in his head was for himself only.

"Of course. My apologies. What did you need to speak to me about?"

Of course he was all polite and formal. It made Severus sick, for he knew just how much of it was an act. He cleared his throat softly, his face a cool mask. "I would like you to put a student in remedial classes with me."

"Oh?" The Headmaster's eyes betrayed amusement and surprise. "And which student has our beloved Potions Master taken an interest in?"

He scowled again, though much deeper this time. Meddlesome old fool. "Peterson."

"Taylor Peterson? The Muggleborn Ravenclaw?"

He growled softly and slammed his hand onto the desk. "I am well aware of her blood status! I will not ask for your permission, you sanctimonious old fool. And I will not stand idly by while you make vague references to my mistakes! I know what I am and what I have done. Do not cross me, Albus. Just do as I ask. For once! Please!"

The Headmaster smiled serenely and stood. Nothing phased the old fool. Why? He had just shouted him down, as he had many times before, and still nothing. He simply patted Severus's shoulder the way he did when a student threw a fit in his office. "I have a feeling you'll be seeing her soon enough. Have a good day, Severus."

That was a clear dismissal. Snape huffed and pulled away. The old bastard felt the need to be an enigma. Why could he not just say what he meant? He shook his head as he stalked back out, robes swishing across the stone. He let himself be distracted enough by his anger at the Headmaster that he bumped into a student headed toward the office.

* * *

"Oh! Sorry, Professor!" she squeaked as she tried to dodge the sulking form that was the Potions Master. His face was stony, his air darker than usual. He was angry. And she'd bumped into him. She was definitely in trouble.

His black eyes snapped up and met hers wordlessly. That was worse than any berating he could have done. He recoiled slightly, as though he was disgusted by her. And he gave her the scariest scowl she'd seen out of him all year. Maybe this was a bad idea. It had to be a very idea. He still didn't say a word as he broke eye contact and stalked off down the staircase.

She let out a shaky breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding. That man was intense. Being around him was like laying prone before a dog that could attack you at any time: stressful and dangerous. What had made him so mad?

She knocked ever so lightly on the Headmaster's door. She was big ball of nerves now, all of her earlier fears crashing back down upon her. She was going to break down in sobs soon.

"Please come in."

She slowly pushed the door open and made sure it closed behind her. The Headmaster didn't seem affected by the professor's bad mood. That was good. But now she was afraid to ask either of them for help.

Professor Dumbledore smiled softly and motioned toward the comfortable chair before his desk. "Have a seat, my dear. Jelly baby?" He offered her a small dish, which she declined. She would've thrown up if she'd tried to eat anything right then. Her stomach was too twisted.

He nodded and sat the dish aside before steepling his fingers. "What can I do for you, Miss Peterson?"

She blushed lightly and swallowed hard. "I-I'm applying for an apprenticeship in Italy this summer, sir. And I really need to get my grade up in Advanced Potions to even have a fighting chance at it."

He smiled knowingly. "Have you approached Professor Snape about this?" She could tell from his smile that he knew she hadn't. How could she? He was a storm bottled in human skin. The darkest tempest in caped robes. She shook her head slightly, causing the Headmaster to chuckle. "I will write him a note asking him to place you in a remedial potions class. It will be his prerogative, though, as to whether or not you are placed in one."

She gave the slightest nod as she took the note that he scrawled for her. "Thank you, sir. I understand." She rose and gave him a respectful nod before heading for the door. She was suffocating between these walls!

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, and she turned, unsure of what else they needed to discuss. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked her over, "Best of luck, Miss Peterson." Now she was dismissed. She hurried out, wondering if he was wishing her luck with the apprenticeship or the Potions Master. Either way, she needed another walk on the open grounds before her trip to the dungeons.

 _Reviews are greatly appreciated. ~C.A. Day_


	4. Setting the First Meeting

Students scattered as the Potions Master stalked down the corridor to his office. Even the Slytherins refused to trifle with him when he was in a mood. That was probably for the best. He had been known to verbally attack students, no matter the House, when he was like this.

He made it to his office without incident and sank into his chair with a soft groan. That man was infuriating! He spoke in riddles every single time he opened his mouth! What did he mean he would he seeing Peterson soon enough? Was he talking about literally running into her outside of his office?

He tried to grade papers, but that simply made his irritation worse. His fifth years were worse than his seventh years, which was a feat to be marveled at on a good day. Today it made him want to throw himself off the astronomy tower or smack each and every one of them upside the head.

He had been rude to her when he had bumped into her outside of the Headmaster's office. Now she would probably refuse his help with his class. She was going to pass the class with or without his help, so why subject herself to the extra time with the Great Git? Why would she even want to try to improve in his class? Within six months it wouldn't matter how she did in her Advanced Potions class. No one ever went into the potions field. It was full of old witches and wizards that would die out and be replaced by the back end of middle-aged wizards and witches. There was very few young people involved anymore.

He shook his head and growled softly in frustration as someone tapped on his office door. Now what?

* * *

She lightly rapped again on Professor Snape's office door. She felt stupid showing up at his door so late at night. Almost as though she was silly for even requesting his help. She probably was. He'd probably take one look at her and laugh, note be damned. She wasn't one of his precious Slytherin anyway. Or her luck would be that he was still angry over whatever happened earlier. Then she'd really be in trouble.

"WHAT?" The door jerked open with an angry Professor Snape glaring down at her. She shrank and blushed crimson, her eyes immediately going to her feet.

"I-I'm sorry, s-sir. I can come back tomorrow." He was going to throw her in detention and never help her now. Why had she even come this late? Why hadn't she waited until tomorrow? Because she was stupid. That's why. She was definitely in trouble now.

The professor let out a sigh that sounded a lot like a growl. "What do you need, Peterson?" His tone sounded slightly softer, so she ventured to peek up at him. He looked slightly less pissed. That was good, right? She held up the note, which was less than gently removed from her hand.

In Dumbledore's spidery handwriting, it said:  
 _Severus, Miss Peterson would like to be placed in a remedial potions class for assistance with her potionmaking._

* * *

He looked her over slowly, feeling quite a bit of stress and, oddly enough, worry draining from his body. "Is this true?" The girl looked up at him with surprise and fear as she nodded. That was good. Very good. So she had been on her way to Dumbledore for assistance reaching out to him.

He could use Legimens and get a quick peek into her mind. He would know why she went to Albus rather than approach him. And why she wanted help. Why she cared. But he refrained, uncertain of why he did so.

Instead, he moved aside so she could enter his office. She looked up at him again, her eyes still afraid, but still she entered. He should consider that a victory. She did not back down, so it must be important to her. He closed the door and reclaimed his chair as she perched precariously on the edge of the wooden stool across from his desk.

"Why do you want to be placed in remedial potions, Peterson?"

* * *

She swallowed softly and took in the austere appearance of the office. Small. Bookshelf lined with potions books. Just a desk. A somewhat comfortable looking chair for himself. And a wooden stool for his unlucky visitors. Meant to discourage long visits, she supposed.

Why did she want remedial potions? Her eyes slid back to him, though not back to his eyes. She worried that she'd make him angry if she wasn't careful. Well, angrier. "I need to bring my grade up, sir. Well, more than that, I need to truly understand what I'm doing in your class. I need potions to be second nature to me. Brewing needs to be like breathing."

She watched as his posture changed slightly and he leaned toward her. "Do you mean that, Miss Peterson?"

She shivered slightly. His tone held an undercurrent of something new. Something slightly unsettling but she wasn't sure what. "I-I do, Professor."

* * *

He leaned back, forcing his face to reveal nothing. He could not let her see how she had gotten his hopes up. Had he found the one student that truly cared about his classes?

"If that is the case, you may come to the Potions room every night at 7:30 sharp. If you are late, I shall terminate our agreement. Understood?"

She nodded softly and met his eyes, looking considerably more at ease than when she entered. "Yes sir. When will these lessons start?"

She had agreed! "Tomorrow." His tone betrayed nothing. "Good night, Miss Peterson." She stood and thanked him before fleeing from his office. Blessed solitude. He had time to think now. She had agreed to the lessons! Did these mean that she truly cared about potions? She was willing to risk him in a foul mood for her class. Was this typical Ravenclaw behaviour though? There was no Ravenclaw in his memory willing to cross him for anything. That was the Gryffindors' job.

That was another thing that bothered him about her. Muggleborn Ravenclaw. She could so easily be a Gryffindor. She had faced something obviously frightening because she felt she needed to. He sighed and shook his head. Maybe it was for the best that she was in Ravenclaw. He doubted he could stand a green-eyed Muggleborn Gryffindor.

He let out a soft sigh as he stood and silently extinguished all light around him. Tonight would be a bad night. He could already feel it. But he would deal with it as always. So he made his way to his quarters. He was calling it a night.


	5. Keeping the Date

Taylor knew she was lucky. Today was a Saturday. No classes on Saturday. Except her Remedial Potions. She held in a sigh when she thought about it. After all, she had been the one to request the class. Professor Snape hadn't been overly harsh on her over that, but he hadn't been thrilled either. Though she hadn't expected him to be. She had just created more work for him, and she wasn't one of his darling Slytherins.

That was okay though. She didn't have to have an entire day to herself. She just needed enough time to catch up on other schoolwork, study for upcoming exams, and socialize a bit. That was enough for her. And Remedial Potions was absolutely necessary for her success in the future. 'Keep that in mind during these lessons,' she told herself. She knew that the professor would try her resolve. He seemed to view that as one of his roles in the school: weeding out students.

At exactly 7:30 that evening, she found herself outside of the Potions classroom. She raised her fist and brought it down against the door one, two, three times. From behind the heavy wooden doors came the Potions Master's voice, and the doors gently swung inward. Just like an old time horror movie. No, she didn't want her mind going there.

Professor Snape was leaning over a cauldron on one of the tables, his dark hair framing his pale face. His frame draped in black, figure awash in torchlight; he looked like a vaudeville villain. Or a macabre antihero. She hid a smile behind her hand. She doubted that the professor would appreciate any of those thoughts.

He raised his head to look at her, dark eyes burning in the torchlight. "Miss Peterson."

* * *

She actually came. He felt faintly surprised that any student would accept weekend classes. Once again, she had reinforced his belief that Potions were, for some strange reason, incredibly important to this Ravenclaw.

"If you would join me, we could begin." He watched as she hurried over with a soft blush. She was shy around him, and that was completely understandable. She should be nervous when his attention was on her; he was supposed to be intense and frightening to the students. That was his role in this travesty. He kept his face unreadable as she gave the cauldron a gentle sniff and raised her luminous eyes to his.

"Amortentia?"

He felt a small amount of pride shoot through his body as he gave a small nod. She could recognize a potion that had not been covered yet. Though. To be quite honest, it was a simple potion. However, he brewed it as a simple test. How much did she trust him?

"What do you smell, Miss Peterson?" He watched her intently as she closed her eyes and sniffed again.

"Home, I think." He felt a small trickle of irritation. How did she not know for certain? She peeked an eye open at him and stuttered an apology. He silently cursed himself for not keeping his face blank.

"Do not apologize, Miss Peterson. I was merely hoping for a more definitive response." He would be polite. Remain polite until she proved herself to be completely incompetent.

* * *

She blushed lightly and swallowed. "I understand, Professor." She close her eyes and sniffed again, determined to give him a more in-depth answer. "I smell a forest. Deciduous, in the spring, after a rain. It smells damp and earthy and fresh. I smell rain itself. Clover and wild onions. Freshly mown grass. Petrol." Her green eyes sought his obsidian ones. Was that want he wanted? He gave her a small nod, making her smile slightly. Was she allowed to ask him what he smelled? It wasn't like he would kick her out if she asked, was it? He could always simply decline to answer. That was his right as her professor.

"You are clearly dying to ask a question. What do I smell when I brew this potion?" She nodded softly. He was astute, she would give him that.

He sniffed the spiraling tendrils of steam softly and sighed, "Potion ingredients. Old books. Woodsmoke. Leather." She hid a smile. That was slightly amazing. So very human of him. She had half expected him to say that it didn't have a scent.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you here to smirk at me or learn something?" She blushed. That was a fair point.

"My apologies, sir. What am I to learn today?"

* * *

Why had he volunteered that information? Because he was sick of playing the villain in the castle's melodrama, and one look into Peterson's eyes told him that admitting any personal information, no matter how unimportant, made him much more approachable. However, he could not have her smirking about it.

"I have brewed Amortentia in order to assess your ability at brewing antidotes." Did she comprehend where this was leading? He glanced at her face. Yes, yes she did.

"B-but, sir, that means that I'll have to take the Amortentia. In order to see if the antidote that I've created works."

 _Exactly, Peterson. Do you trust me?_ He curled his lip slightly, his tone ever so slightly mocking, "Certain that you are unable to brew the antidote properly then? The door is over there, Peterson. You are free to leave if this is too difficult." She turned a deep shade of scarlet, whether from rage or embarrassment he could not tell. He was still the Potions Master, the disciplinarian; he would still treat her like any other student. She would have to prove she was worth his time.

* * *

Taylor swallowed hard. _Arse!_ "O-of course I can do it, sir." The antidote to Amortentia was in her Advanced Potions book. She had seen it before, so she dug her book out of her bag. She could do this. She would prove to Professor Snape that she wasn't afraid of her own brewing abilities. She found the page and bit her lip before searching his eyes.

"Professor, i-if I'm being completely honest, I'm a bit leery of my capabilities. If my antidote doesn't work, you'll fix it, won't you?"

It was a complex potion! But at least it wasn't a poison. Falling into a deep infatuation with Severus Snape was preferable to death.

The professor's face was as unreadable as ever as he gave a small nod, a barely noticeable downward jerk of the chin. She let out a sigh of relief and began gathering her ingredients. He wouldn't let her accidentally poison herself.

 _A.N: Is there a romance in the works? Readers decide. Leave it in a review if you would like to see these two together. ~C.A. Day_


	6. The Test

Severus watched her remove a pewter cauldron from the shelf and begin creating the antidote. She refused to trust herself to brew it properly, but she would trust him to save her from either killing herself with a bad antidote or making a fool of herself while under the Amortentia's influence. That was an interesting notion. One Severus intended to question completely at some point in the future, but not now. He was more interested in observing closely how she did with the antidote at that very second.

She did well enough while brewing. She had good instincts, her eyes barely skimming the textbook. The antidote was on the higher end of mediocre, judging from the color of it. He was glad that she had some skill at potion-making. Otherwise, these lessons would prove quite difficult. He was unable to produce natural-born ability in someone who lacked just that, but he truly believed Peterson had at least some skill.

"Professor?" she said softly, knocking him from his thoughts. He moved to her side to examine the antidote. Correct coloring, correct scent. He stirred the potion a little. Correct viscosity. He gave a small nod and produced a vial of Amortentia.

"Drink this. Once it takes effect, I will administer your antidote." His tone was cold and clinical as he watched her reach for the vial. Not once did she hesitate between removing the stopper and downing the potion. Such trust the girl had for him. It almost impressed him.

Her demeanor changed almost immediately after consuming the Amortentia. Her eyes softened as she leaned against the table, looking up at him. "Professor," she said softly, her hand going to his chest, "Have I properly thanked you for agreeing to these lessons with me?" Peterson had pressed her body closer to his.

Severus looked down at her, thinking. As much as it would amuse him to allow her to embarrass herself, he found himself oddly unable to allow this to continue. She had placed her trust in him. It was with that trust in mind that he leaned in close.

"Would you like to thank me?"

She nodded, her lips moving toward his. That was not allowed to happen, and Severus was quite aware of that. He straightened and dipped a vial in the antidote before handing it to her. "Take this," he told her, "And I will consider it your thanks." She smiled at him before draining the vial. He was relieved that she was so cooperative under the potion's influence.

* * *

Taylor shuddered as her mind cleared. That had been… something else. Her mind had been fogged with love and desire. Now it just felt odd. Had she really tried to kiss him? Sheepishly she smiled up at the professor. "Thank you for giving me the antidote when you did." Another minute and she would have been in some serious trouble.

Professor Snape cleared his throat as he took a step back. She hadn't even realized she was still invading his personal space. Her cheeks heated slightly as she averted her eyes. "Your antidote worked," he told her as he cleared away the vials. Nothing more said on the subject of the Amortentia. She was extremely grateful for his reticence; if he had wanted to discuss the issue, she would have died of mortification. The walls were already getting tighter around her.

He Vanished her antidote and returned to his desk. "That concludes tonight's lesson. Tomorrow at the same time. Good night, Miss Peterson." He simply dismissed her. No praise, no berating. She hadn't expected the former and didn't think she would escape without the latter. It was a good night.

"Yes, sir. Thank you. Have a good night, Professor," she said politely before showing herself out. Happily showing herself out. She didn't want to spend much longer in the dungeons. How did he stand it down there? She vaguely wondered if there was a potion that would assist with claustrophobia. Just a thought as she made her way back to Ravenclaw Tower for some light reading before bed.

As she laid down in her bed, she realized that no reading would be done. Her mind was picking up speed now that she was in a relatively safe environment. She had let the Potions Master give her a potion. She had trusted him not to lie or poison her. To keep her safe while she was under its influence and to prevent her from harming herself with her attempted antidote. Why?

"Because I'm an idiot," she concluded aloud. That was the only thing that explained her behaviour. That and he was a professor that she had had classes with for several years. Even if he was a Slytherin, she could trust him. Right? However a single thought nagged at the back of her mind: what had been the point of that lesson?

* * *

Severus Vanished the remainder of the Amortentia and put out the torches for the night. Miss Peterson was always in such a hurry to escape his classroom; why had she even come to him for his help if she was incapable of enduring the class? _She did endure it_ , he reminded himself, _and she never once backed down_. She had simply conceded that her potion-making abilities may not be up to par with the test he was giving her.

 _But they were_. Severus found himself slightly impressed by the girl. What drove her to such lengths that she would trust him to truthfully provide her with a vial of potion? Then proceed to administer said potion to herself? What ends was he assisting her in reaching? Why did she insist that his subject was so crucial to her? What was the girl up to?

The professor shook his head with a sigh. All agendas were exposed eventually. Patience: he was blessed with it when it came to strategies. She would tell him before his lessons concluded. He could refrain from using Legimens for that long. Surely, these lessons would not continue to the end of the year; all students managed to disappoint or foul themselves up before they truly impressed him.

His objective for the first lesson had not escaped him. He had wanted to know the extent of her trust for him, and he had not found it. Nothing he had done had tried her faith in him. Perhaps there would have been a different outcome had he insisted she ingest a poison, but he would not risk her health for that knowledge. She had performed admirably, surpassed his expectations actually. That was good; that meant that there was no need for him to behave as though they were on eggshells during future lessons. There could be an atmosphere of openness between the two.

His mind moved to the next day. What lesson should he have prepared for her? She was a class of one that he could expose to whatever aspects of potion-making he wished. He felt himself growing excited at the prospect. Perhaps these lessons could be enjoyable.

* * *

 _((A/N: I'm at a loss for where to take this. Suggestions are always appreciated. Sorry I left it so long. ^^ Please review!))_


End file.
